18 April 2007

I Kicked a Boy

And I may do it again!

Many of you who are regular perusers of my 'blogination also occasionally jaunt over to my friends' (yes--I have more than one) journals, just to mix things up a bit, or see if I only hang out with people who use equally pretentious vocabulary. In case you don't generally do this, I refer you to Friend Nat's latest 'blog entry for a little context. Nat, take it away: Everybody do the Wilhelm Scream.

Didja read it? Huh? Didja didja didja? 'Cause if you didn't, the rest of this will make less sense to you.

I have to own up to the fact that I get excited when I hang out with people with whom I feel I can really be myself. This excitement, more often than not, comes out in physical expression. (Minds: There's a ladder out of this gutter, I swear.) Now. I'm accustomed these days to channeling that particular enthusiasm into circus work. That's just what I get up to, physically speaking, most often, and it turns out I feel very free amongst circus freaks (by which I mean people freakishly into circus, not so much flipper babies and Siamese twins). It has also become increasingly apparent that I am losing some distinction between circus folk and ordinary Joes. Oftentimes in rehearsal for one thing or another, I'll just stop myself from leaping onto someone's back, hearing that voice in my head just in the nick of tick that chimes reasonably in to say, "Hey there, Sparky . . . that 90-pound girl might not necessarily be capable of sustaining your weight. She might, in fact, be a little surprised by having her ribcage summarily flattened for no apparent reason. And anyway, you're rehearsing A Doll's House. 'Smatter whitchoo?"

Similarly, I really didn't get enough time hanging with males when I was growing up. Somewhere around age eight or nine I kind of gave up on it as a lost cause, not understanding the priorities of sports and derision, and being as I was (am?)--admittedly--an insecure little bugger. I've been making up for lost time in that regard, and that translates to violence. Well, it does! I can't help it! All guys do this, to some extent. Here's your movie quote: "Why is it that when men play, they always play at killing each other?" Fight Club (not the source of that quote) was actually quite vindicating for me, expressing this need in a very sincere, albeit ultimately sociopathic, manner. Hell, Friend Mark and I spent a couple of seasons prescribing to the Fight Club ethos a bit, because we appreciated it so much. Sometimes to this day, one of us will spontaneously punch the other--really, really hard--and say matter-of-fact-ly: "Conditioning."

Add to that a little greasing by America's oldest brewery, and, uh, well . . .

So the moral of the story is, nobody male should hang out with me without wearing protective gear. And if you have to rehearse with me, do some push-ups, for God's sake, because I might decide Masha really ought to carry Dmitri to Moscow herself. And I'm not saying I kick ass here, at all. It's not anything to do with pride in my skills, rather with shame over my irrepressible urge to kill everyone. That's nothing to celebrate.

Still and all. I did kick a six-foot-something guy in the head.

I'm just saying.


Patrick said...

Bring it on, Sucka.

Patrick said...

Oh, and I'm not convinced it's only males who need to wear protective gear around you, since the only person I've ever seen you punch is Heather. And from what you each told me, it wasn't the first time.

Nat said...

Dude, I totally let you do it for a publicity stunt. Look at how much better our blogs are doing now!

Next time, you can set me on fire!

Jeff Wills said...

Erm. Yes. Well, Heather has proven herself time and again to enjoy being punched, kicked, dropped upon from a great height...you name it.

And I would never fight you, Patrick (apart from one incident of ill-advised paranoia on my part). You'd magically tranform into a puma and eat my liver, and nobody wants that.

Well, maybe Nat does, at this point...

Jeff Wills said...

No! YOU set ME on fire!

It is funny, isn't it? Suddenly I'm getting responses to my 'blog again. I suppose Sam Shepard is not the marketing magnet I might have imagined.

That's 5 Ms. I kick consonance in the head, too.

Keep your hands up said...

I want you to hit me as hard as you can...

Oh Jeff, I love you so. You definitely had some issues tapping into your masculinity back in the day though. I think you were out of college before you stopped fearing my little brother.

On the other hand, Jeff achieved certain feats of bravery that to this day I'd be squeemish about, so his virile animal totem was in there the whole time. And now that I'm a lazy computer analyst, he's in much better physical condition than I am as well...

Jeff, I think it may be time for a royal rumble when I get up there in June. Sure, you can kick 6ft tall guys in the head, but can you kick *me* in the head? I'll even take a few tequila shots first ;)

Melissa said...

I can't stop laughing....
I want a protective gear hat to do head spins...you think they give me one?

I am very proud of your work on flexibility that in your, um, state you got your foot up to his head.

very nice.

Patrick said...

Mmmmmmm, Jeff-liver...wait, what? There was a point when you thought you were going to have to take me out? Or thought I was going to try to take you out? Do I want to know the details? More importantly, does the blogosphere?
Admit it, you don't want to join my fight club because you're not comfortable with the mandatory group showers and massage after the session.
And sure, you hit Heather because she LIKES it.
Final thought: the entry on my blog that at present holds the record for most comments is the one where I just say my name repeatedly. That's gonna feed the narcissism nicely. You guys should try it.

Jeff Wills said...

I am shocked, SHOCKED, I say, at the popularity of a 'blog entry that has everything to do with the glorification of violence. For shame!

I knew it all along.

Melissa: Now I know what to get you for your birthday.
Mark: If we're fighting, I get to choose the weapons, and the weapon I choose is audience reaction.
Patrick: Remember when you hugged me in that cafe, and I didn't see you coming and almost decked you?

Everyone: Thanks for reading.